Days Of Amber
by Leni
Summary: Joyce, counting amber beads. Season2, right after 'Bad Eggs'


//Weren't they all the best at one point?//  
  
TITLE: Days of Amber  
  
AUTHOR: Leni   
  
DISCLAIMER: Erm, I'd say no. If JW says the opposite I'll   
  
accept them.  
  
Improv #:3 (70): blister -- blame -- amber -- stroke  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Ask.  
  
SUMMARY: Joyce, counting amber beads.  
  
RATING: G-PG.  
  
FEEDBACK: Please?  
  
AN: I've never written Joyce before.   
  
***  
  
It was an ankle bracelet, something a woman her age really   
  
shouldn't wear anymore.  
  
Joyce stared at the amber beads, carefully linked by a golden   
  
thread. They blinked at her playfully. If you looked closer   
  
you would notice small embossing on them: once a heart, once a   
  
star, one a moon and then the heart again.   
  
She didn't even know why she still wore this bracelet.  
  
It was a beautiful artwork, and Joyce had fallen in love with   
  
it as soon as she saw it in that little shop in Venice. Hank   
  
had laughed aloud, commenting that only his wife would choose   
  
something so simple when he had offered her anything from   
  
Tiffany's only minutes ago. "Aren't I the luckiest man on   
  
Earth?" he'd said as he counted the bills. Joyce had ignored   
  
him, instead focusing on the light sparkles which adorned her   
  
ankle. She had smiled brightly and searched Hank's eyes,   
  
mouthing "You are the best" as their gazes connected.  
  
Joyce shook her head at the memory, she still couldn't blame   
  
the old shop-owner for laughing when her crazy husband has   
  
knelt before her and respectfully kissed the bracelet. Oh, how   
  
she had giggled and blushed like a silly schoolgirl! Even more   
  
when she noticed the old man smiling benignly at the   
  
honeymooners' antics.  
  
She smiled now too, her fingers grazing the bracelet's   
  
surface. It still reflected the light as brightly as that   
  
first day, but Hank wasn't the best anymore.   
  
Her fingers went slowly over the beads. Eighteen, always   
  
eighteen. She sighed, she had loved to pass her fingertips   
  
over the amber, guessing the engraving's shape with only a   
  
touch.   
  
One, it was a star. Its five pointy ends tugging softly   
  
against her skin.  
  
Two, a waning moon. Two pointy ends and a curve in-between.  
  
Three should be a heart then. Four, five and six. Seven, eight   
  
and nine. And so on until, by the last bead, Joyce felt a   
  
heart again.  
  
It was a tad ironic, she felt, there were eighteen beads, each   
  
one representing a year of marriage. Since the divorce she had   
  
often wondered if the ankle bracelet had foretold her future.   
  
Joyce liked to think that the six hearts signalled the happy   
  
years she spent with Hank, right until having two little kids   
  
at home became too demanding and, added to his stressful work   
  
and her always postponed artful inspirations, strained their   
  
relationship little by little. Maybe the six stars were the   
  
six years they clang to each other, reaching compromises which   
  
managed to last months before the next storm invaded the   
  
Summers' household. And the six moons... Joyce sighed, why did   
  
she have to choose waning moons as part of her jewellery?   
  
One morning before moving to Sunnydale she had found the tiny   
  
bracelet practically hidden at the bottom of her jewellery   
  
case. She had stared at it for hours, just held it in her hand   
  
remembering that travel to Italy, lifetimes (Buffy's and   
  
Dawn's, she had thought with a wry chuckle) ago. She had cried   
  
then, much more than eighteen tears making their quiet way   
  
down her cheeks. Then she had noticed the little moons, six   
  
waning moons metaphorically disappearing into nothing... just   
  
like her last six years with Hank: Letting it go, avoiding   
  
little fights just to explode in bitter arguments when the   
  
pressure got too uncomfortable... trying desperately to get   
  
along, even if only for the girls' sake, and utterly failing   
  
in that too.  
  
Joyce sighed again and let her fingers count the beads. Again   
  
and again. They were always eighteen.  
  
She hadn't wanted to believe that after eighteen years   
  
everything could be gone. With a single stroke of a pen her   
  
life with Hank had been pronounced finished, he with the L.A.   
  
house and she with their daughters' custody and enough money   
  
to begin a new life.   
  
It had been a turning point for Joyce. After the audience she   
  
had sincerely thanked her lawyer, shook hands with her new ex   
  
husband and left the jury without a sense of direction, both   
  
metaphorical and realistic.  
  
She had wandered for hours that day, probably seen many L.A.   
  
sights she had never seen before... probably, she didn't   
  
really remember. She had walked and walked until the sun went   
  
down until she remembered that the girls were alone at home   
  
now. No Hank in the little study downstairs to check on them.   
  
That little fact had triggered a new bout of tears,   
  
nonetheless she had resolutely returned to the house.  
  
That day, after checking that Buffy was actually sleeping and   
  
not chattering on the phone (though the bill had dramatically   
  
dropped in the last months), she had discovered blisters on   
  
her feet. One near each big toe, and bigger ones where the   
  
shoe had unmercifully rubbed against her skin. She had had to   
  
use soft slippers for days, until the high heels didn't   
  
torture her and the last blister had healed back into smooth   
  
skin.  
  
That had thankfully happened in time for the lengthy and   
  
boring process of straightening everything up, deciding which   
  
would go to Sunnydale and which would stay. That's when she   
  
had found the amber bracelet.  
  
She had finally calmed down and touched up her make-up so the   
  
girls wouldn't worry when they saw her. And then she had   
  
slipped the tiny jewel around her ankle, a reminder that   
  
Venice had not been a dream and that there had been a time   
  
when she was happy with Hank.  
  
Passing by her grounded older daughter's room, she heard soft   
  
sounds coming from within. She approached the door and heard   
  
Buffy's half of the conversation.  
  
"Yes, he came... through the window." Pause. "Don't ask what   
  
you don't want to know, Wills!... No! You and your dirty   
  
mind!" Laughs. "We just talked and stuff. Yes, through the   
  
window... Because I'm grounded, duh!"  
  
Joyce smiled. She really should go in and berate her daughter   
  
for breaking the rules. But the truth was, Buffy was scaring   
  
her with her erratic behaviour and escapades. To hear her   
  
talking about a teenage crush with calm, nice, down-to-earth   
  
Willow was a real relief.  
  
She heard quiet giggles from inside the room and caught an   
  
unbelievable happy whisper. "Isn't he the best, Willow?"  
  
Joyce smiled for the last time. Weren't they all the best at   
  
one point?, she thought, still feeling a light weight on her   
  
ankle.  
  
She only hoped that Buffy would never count amber beads, too.  
  
The End.  
  
15/08/03  
  
Comments, corrections and death-threats happily welcomed. Leni. 


End file.
